Themes of rebellion and conformity are practically inescapable in literature. Viewed from a certain light, any work might look tailor-made for the debate between the individual and society; so, in order to attack this topic, it might help to narrow it down just a bit. Rebellion can be as grand as overthrowing a tyrannical government, or as subtle as "forgetting" to put the toilet seat down (of the two, I've only done one), but how do these acts relate to the notion of true Americanism?
Of course, the United States was founded on rebellion, but we are one of many countries to have such a background. We are however, one of the few governments that has managed to adapt and remain relatively uninterrupted (save for a few shivers around our Civil War). In a sense, America has avoided rebellion by, in most cases, legalizing that which the rebels desire. Women, given enough time, could have turned the country inside out, however, our government was nimble enough to realize its mistake; give women equal rights or risk destroying much more than misogyny. Later, the Civil Rights movement brought with it a similar offer: desegregate or watch the country erupt. But what about cases when rebellion has not achieved its goal? The current movement for Gay Rights has had some success: Massachusetts and California have both legalized gay marriage, but Conservative officials have been on the brink of creating a constitutional amendment to stamp it out completely.
But how can we package all of this, neatly enough to find it within American literature? The conflict between rebellion and conformity may be marked, in our case, by American Democratic principles. Quite simply, if there is enough support for rebellion, the government conforms to it; if there is not, the rebellion can and will be ignored. Henry David Thoreau's "Resistance to Civil Government," though written to promote ideals of individualist rebellion, does more to disprove his thesis than anything else. Thoreau, in protest of the Mexican-American War, chooses not to pay a poll tax, and is subsequently jailed. While he is willing to stay there as long as it takes for his protest to work, he is not joined or applauded by anyone who hears of it. Instead, his aunt bails him out the next morning, when she pays the tax against his wishes.
Herman Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener," thought by some to be a subtle jab at Thoreau's hopeless individualism, shows this impotence through Bartleby. He, a young man who has recently come to work for a lawyer on Wall Street, rebels against the bureaucracy that he finds himself a part of, without ever explaining his intentions. His actions eventually leave him dead in a prison, and the narrator can no more than speculate that his past employment at a dead letter office may have contributed. Melville's criticism of this Thoreau-like resistance seems to stem from the fact that any rebellion, if not cultivated to some magnitude, will fail. The individual rebel cannot succeed.
The irony, however, is that the successful rebel can longer be what he once was-namely, a rebel. Kurt Cobain, once a grunge rock revolutionary, can now be seen as the father of some of the worst popular music of all time. Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club does an interesting rendition of this theme, wherein his unnamed narrator escapes the drudgery of corporate bureaucracy only to find himself at the top of his own, bureaucratic pyramid. Although he begins on the fringe of society with his local fight club, the narrator's creation eventually outgrows him; he becomes the unwilling, unwitting and unquestioned leader of Project: Mayhem's rigid hierarchy. What Palahniuk seems to be saying, is that conformity is all but inescapable.
One way or another, a rebellion will always fail. The small are crushed, and the large become part of the slow corporate body-no longer rebels, but upstanding citizens.